The Nectar of Despair

They sit in silence,
Drunk in the nectar of despair,
They sit in silence,
Soaking in the sanguine air,
They sit in silence,
As the raindrops dance heavily,
They sit in silence,
Like two still dancers,
At the end of the ballet of existence,

They sit in silence,
Drunk in the nectar of despair...

The Beatdown

Thwarted and dragged,
Despondent and ragged,

These tattered shrouds of your soul.

Fearful and cowardly,
Defeated and in agony,

These fragments of your bitter life.

Beatdown and stripped,
Villified and whipped,

These sorrowful moments of your existence.

Still Death

The life that once was,
Stripped of all it's meaning,
Flesh and bones,
Like sticks and stones,
Hardened like the human soul,
The life that once was,
Gazes at me in fear,
A develish smile remains,
Frozen of all it's meaning...

The wanderer asks..
In these fragments that I pieced,
Am I the human,
Or am I just the beast...

Become...

Become like the call of the nightingale’s chirp,

Become like the roar of the elephant’s birth,

Become like the soul of the daylight break,

Become like the rustle of the tree stalk shake,

Become an existence that is larger than you,

Become an ideal of all that is true,

Become like the light that shines over all,

Become the voice that answers every call.

Become someone larger than pride and strife,

Throw out the verbal dagger and knife,

Become like a bouquet of roses and bloom,

Spread the fragrance of love and swoon,

Become like the smile of an infant child,

Become like the innocence of the beast in the wild,

Become like the serenity of the corpse deceased,

Become like the terror of the awaiting beast…

Until The Monsoon Comes

The lush golden sand in this desert wide,

Doesn’t scream its thirst every night,

The pitch black sky doesn’t taunt,

In its abdicated refusal to give in,

The cracks at the seams of the parched soil,

Doesn’t scream its thirst every night,

It withers on and withers on

Until the monsoon comes…

The Prayer

The crowd stands in unison,
Shoulder to shoulder,
Like soldiers defending a fallen city,
The crowd stands in unison,
And the call of the muezzin begins...
The prayer of the twilight,
The advent of the feast of the soul,
Begins as angels shower god's love,
And the revelers bask its blinding glory,
The nameless one remains sheltered,
Cloaked in the mask of disillusion,
The nameless one remains bitter,
Sheltered in the umbrella of his deceit...

The Matam

He remains not of this world,
and yet His body walks among us,
His form raised above all in chant,
Hovering over this sea of men,
Drowning in tears, flowers and rain,
He awakens not to the sound of thunder,
He awakens not to the sound of rain...

At the Banks of the River

My existence is lost, I am merely a wanderer,
I am not of this world, nor am I of the beyond,
These eyes search endlessly for the heartbeats,
Pounding away (loudly) in the forgotten corners of this land,
My existence is lost, I am merely a wanderer,
One who searches during the day and by the starlight night,
One who searches in the searing sun, and under the silver moon,
One who searches until he has forgotten all else that mattered,
If you ask him his name, he gazes in ponder,
And he points to the silent cries in the distance...

His existence is lost, he is merely a wanderer,
He is not of this world, nor is he of the beyond,
nothing remains for him in this emptiness and hollow,
He talks of angels and demons hitherto unknown,
haunted it seems he remains like a cowardly animal,
crossing the thin mango bark over the raging river,
This wanderer roaming still,
Aimlessly like a madman,
The wanderer roaming still,
Searching for a few lost heartbeats...

Come Within

They search in the empty corridors of the heart,
These eyes gazing throught windowless souls,
These voices that echo in the halls of the shah,
These voice that echo loudly within.

Thumping loudly,
This heart searches for meaning,
In this barren land absent,
Of the intoxication of your love...

Come within me,
Come within me,
Oh lost love of my heart,
Come like the autumn wind,
Come like the prayers of the fakeer,
Come like the drops of honey,
Dripping down the lips of Layla,
Her eyes searching for her majnun,

Through windowless souls of despair,
And empty corridors of reason,
Come like the sound of the rain...

Fatigued Faces of Youth

I see the tired and fatigued faces of my youth,
Wander around with no discernible soul,
I hear the empty sounds of my youth,
speaking in gibberish words but no voice,
Herded around like cattle,
I see the bleeding bodies of those alive,
Wander around with no discernible soul,
Unknown faces in the unknown crowd,
Stare back in the visions of unrecognition,
I see the face of my beloved,
But he does not see me,
And I become one with the souless faces,
Wandering around...

Solitude

Is is existent and real,
Is it fleshed out,
With bones and muscles and tendons,
Or is it a tease,
Have the voices heard in stormy nights,
Given birth to my lost friend...

Has he returned once again,
To hold me in this moment,
Does he hold in his stomach,
empty words of comfort,
Has he returned once again,
My forsaken existence of silence.

Is it in the chimes at the doorsteps,
Is it in the gentle rustles in the night,
Is it in piercing songs of the blackbird,
Is it in the gongs of the midnight hour.

Is it the arrival of my long lost friend,
Fleshed out with bones and muscles and tendons...

The Metamorphosis

The metamorphosis is complete,
As the second hand begins its sweep,
The hour is born from the womb,
The Aegis of the minute,
Of the day of the month of the year,
Begins dwindling and churning,
Grinding and turning,
My existence lurches still,
Not forward nor back,
Non existent, but still physical,
Searching for something,
In the cloudy eyes empty,
of all promise,
The Ghosts of the past,
return once again to haunt,
And the metamorphosis is now complete.